


Forget Me Not

by mooses_gabriel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Destiel - Freeform, M/M, Sabriel - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-09
Updated: 2017-12-09
Packaged: 2018-03-03 17:42:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2859416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mooses_gabriel/pseuds/mooses_gabriel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gabriel has been alive (albeit trapped and tortured) the whole time since Elysian Fields. He shows up just before the third trial, and a lot of man pain and eyebrow wiggling ensues.</p><p>*this story picks up right before the end of season eight with some tweaking</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> So I reformatted the whole thing so it would flow better

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A fresh start to an old story that I never finished. I am keeping my promise though, it will get done.

It’s silent here, in this ruined city that hides from the world like some forgotten war-beaten place to the west. Shambles of concrete foundations and sidewalks are just visible beneath layers of dirt and overgrowth. The wild creeps in from all sides as trees take back what is rightfully theirs. Victorious.

A short distance from the center of the decay is a roofless structure of failing walls, ghost shingles, and the memories of wooden beams centuries since departed. Ivy weaves its way up the remaining steel rods that peek out of their concrete beds in fear of nature’s persistence. Whispers among the leaves contribute to the night hum, joined by the occasional frog.

Moonlight exposes the statue still figure, arms wrapped around his legs and head bowed to ignore the star bleached horizon. Rodents skitter by, fearless, no need to be afraid of the thing that has not moved for countless cycles of the cicadas. No, they do not mind him, and a fox walks up and sniffs him, moving on with disinterest to stalk the local mice.

He doesn’t track time, or seek to label it in years, days, or seconds. He sees it. Sees it in the silent creeping of the green ivy up the walls of forgotten homes, in the rhythm of breaking waves, in the dying stars, and stretching shadows. He hears time in the rumbling of tectonic plates, the voices of young and old, and the wind humming in long grasses. He can feel it in the vibration of marching ants, the hollows of grief, in the rain on desert sand, and the alignment of Saturn’s rings. He tastes time in cheap coffee, in jealousy, in a blue fall sky, and in the regret of words never spoken. The passage of time is something tangible, mapped in the skin of lovers, the feeling of warm sheets after running home in the rain, or the texture of old paper. Time is not meant to be measured.

And yet, if anyone bothered to, they’d know he has been here for a very, very long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you guys mind if I delete the old chapters and start anew or do you want me to leave them? Please let me know


	2. A Bit More Than Six Feet Under

The oxidizing copper pipes look vaguely like roads, mapped across the ceiling of the underground cell. Footsteps echo outside of the room, taunting and slow, before the lock on the door clicks and a young blonde walks in. She smiles reassuringly, the expression contrasted by the black eyes and blade in hand.

“Let’s just chat today. Whaddaya say darlin’?”

Her southern accent makes Gabriel grit his teeth as she daintily steps around the drying blood on the floor. He doesn’t respond, causing her to tsk.

“Oh dear, I was hoping for a nice conversation. It seems our guest has lost his manners,” she sneers, dropping the act of innocence.

“Sorry to be to blunt to a belle like you, but go fuck yourself.” Gabriel shifts, the chains holding him clinking as he raises an eyebrow at the demon before him.

Sighing, she pretends to be upset, “They never learn.”

His screams echo down the empty hall for hours. When it ends, the demon leaves, wiping her bloody hands on her apron and locking the door behind her. Closing his eyes, Gabriel focuses on breathing to ignore the new cuts on his body. Concentrating on the cold floor against his cheek as the walls drift in and out of clarity with the waves of pain, he eventually sits up and stares at the pipes again. _What a routine life._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the long wait my laptop broke because my puppy is insane. The good news is I had a lot of time to plan things so expect more regular updates


	3. You Can't Handle The Truth

I was very young at the time of the horn’s creation. At the time, it seemed like a great idea and I could not have been convinced otherwise. I was a naïve little angel who asked 'why' a few times too many. Looking back now, any answer I got was limited because my elders had no clue. Our Father kept us in the dark about many things, but the one thing we ever knew with certainty was the Grand Plan. Think Truman Show level of brainwashing minus the viewer ratings.

 _Why_ , I wondered, _do we not walk amongst humanity and learn from it as we love it? Why serve them, but stay far away as if people are a disease? Why do we criticize them when we do nothing but sit and watch?_

Such questions I would not have dared to ask had I know something was wrong at all. Certain things should not be brought to the light, yet I acquired as much as I could through eavesdropping on conversations born on hushed voices and dark tones. I was a child in the vague sense of the term once, a long time ago, and my fascination was the start of my demise.

It is a terrible thing, the truth.

It has been the cause of countless broken hearts, silent homes, the final push of despair, the tension in war, self-loathing, envy, rage of unmeasured quantities, depression of bottomless lows, and hatred of no other origin. The truth changes the way we look at one another, and the way we look at ourselves. It is like a poison, or the ultimate weapon.

The perfect way to break someone's spirit is to tell them the truth. What you think about them, what about them bothers you, what really happened that night so long ago. Things you would never really say aloud, things you hardly dare think. And, if you sit there and watch, you can see the foundation on which the way they perceive the world crumbles. Then you may be horrified at yourself for saying these things, and no matter how much you have denied it yourself, this is what you think deep down, and you can't dismiss or alter that. So in the end, you have broken them and cracked yourself. Through the cracks your soul is showing, unguarded and telling your story.

This is why the truth is the perfect ammunition. It is a two-way mirror. What you say goes both ways and the pain you inflicted is reflected in yourself. The truth destroys relationships and paves the way for heartache and loss. This is why lying comes so naturally; it is the less painful option. And perhaps it’s better that way, everyone building their lives with bricks made of little lies. Living in a little home in a little reality that you conjure for yourself. A big collection of little lies. The truth will always be the worst torture, while lies bring words of comfort. After all, the saying is 'ignorance is bliss,' isn't it?

Should I be placed in my younger self's shoes, the truth was a gilded ideal. A prize to win without knowing the game. When daddy dearest wrote my role and gave me the horn, I did not question it. I was proud – sue me – to be chosen as the messenger and the one who would declare fin at the end of the book.

'Lies are bad,' I believed at the time. It was drilled into my mind from the day I was created. The rules scripted my DNA; However, I was never told of the demolition truth can cause so I figured I was given something wonderful. I wanted to show my fellow archangels, who did not yet know their parts, but could rejoice in the reveal of mine.

So in high spirits I skipped between empty Heavens, smiling when I saw the vast meadows and valleys waiting to welcome the first humans to eternal life. This was a long time before The Fall, us existing angels few in numbers but high in faith. Everyone was excited for when Adam and Eve would be put in The Garden, and after the humans were created I sometimes caught a younger Seraphim abandoning their post to watch in fascination.

I kept passing through vacant paradise until I found my favorite brothers Michael and Lucifer. They did not yet know that they were destined to be pitted against each other, and were anxious to know their parts in Father’s play. They shared my joy in knowing mine, and encouraged my excitement. They didn’t have time to warn me before I stupidly brought the horn up to my lips to practice for the end scene.

I did not hear the divine equivalent of a fifth grader trying the recorder for the first time, but a multifaceted sound the reverberated through my being. Think a choir of rats on helium that were just stepped on, and then layer it a million times in different tones and add the screeching souls of the damned. The shrill cry resounded in my grace and I dropped the trumpet and fell near Lucifer's feet. Covering my ears with my hands, I crouched on my knees, still feeling the cacophony attacking my grace.

When I removed my hands, they were blue and bright, covered in my own grace. My eyes widened as I stared my palms, wincing when a burning pain lit on the sides of my head and spread throughout my entire being, suffocating the light. I cried like a baby, partly due to fear and partly due to the pain. It was the first time I felt anything other than peace and heavenly calm. Tears raced from my eyes as I covered my ears again and drew my knees up in fetal position. My face scrunched together, unable to scream. The pain was paralyzing. I looked to my brothers for help, but they were looking around, entranced, as if trying to find whatever sound they had heard.

I held my ears and wailed as hearing slowly came back to me and the azure celestial energy began to disperse into atoms and the force of Heaven. I healed, but I believe the experience inspired my Father to create Rit Ziens, yet another class of heavenly warrior to follow His commands.

We each had our roles.

And soon after I learned the weight of mine, my older siblings learned theirs. Lucifer left, as did others. Fighting ensued, and it was my misfortune to see the very first angel to die. It was my blade that did it.

After the first sins, many of my siblings became like robots. I know we were supposed to be soldiers, but they weren’t just following orders they _lived_ orders. It pained me to see everyone so emotionless and without the joy and light we were made to be. It sounds messed up, but I almost missed the fighting and the chaos, if only to have some compassion and fellowship among the ranks. It sounds messed up and it was, but that was my wish for many years after that. My prayer. My lamentation in the night, my ballad during the day. My dream and my curse. My cry which echoed soundlessly between Heavens. It filled the void between deceased ever afters, the places I tried hiding from the truth. My internal screams never drowned out the constant words marching through my mind. They paraded endlessly, when one fell the next soldier in line raised a gun to shout in the voice of my fallen brothers.

I wish I’d had a sign that leaving heaven would be the biggest decision I’ve ever made.

I can never go back in time and warn myself. I’ve made peace with that.

Many people have thought. _'If only I had known what I do now, how would things be different?'_ Maybe I would be better off, maybe I would have drowned in those building waves of brutal honesty. It happened how it did and no amount of wishing is going to fix it. Perhaps I would have been happy, a prince in his castle of lies. But the troubled kingdom became a house of cards called reality, and I was holding up the weight from the first floor.

"You have a mission, Gabriel."

I hadn’t heard that voice in so long, and I was ready to accept my fate without asking. My Father, who art be who knows where, had given me a task. I was to slay the Nephilim in front of their parents, including my own children. I did as I was told, but my hands shook. They trusted me, my kids, and I met them from the other side of a blade.

I bear scars on my wings and patched grace. So does every angel and every soul I’ve ever seen, and yet. None of those scars run as deep as the ones given to us by those we trust. The ones who use the truth to carve and maim, even if it is accidental.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lucky you! Two chapters in one day! Actually I just had them ready and I felt bad about the long wait


	4. Life Goes On With Or Without You

All things considered, Sam expected it to feel worse. It was nothing like being possessed by a demon – that felt demeaning and sickly – but holding Lucifer beneath his skin was like being frozen and burning at the same time. Having the devil walk a mile in his shoes was painful, sure, but he had prepared for worse.

He’d imagined he would rot, that eventually he would look like Nick, all frayed edges and soft eyes to mask the torment beneath the peeling skin. It was more like being stuck in a nightmare, one where you know it’s a dream but you can’t control your body, and you scream at yourself ‘wake up wake up wake up’ but keep dreaming. He couldn’t quite feel his body anymore; he knew it was there but wasn't able to move. He saw the world falling apart at the devil’s words. It was almost gentle.

He wished he had control of his body so he could wash the feeling of Dean’s blood off his hands. The rusting sign for Stull Cemetery was behind him, and the sun was out. It was a beautiful day to be chained to a vengeful archangel.

Then, miraculously, he somehow had the reins back, grabbed what was left of poor Adam, and held on as the two archangels were caged. Falling into the pit was like staring at the surface from the bottom of a pool; the world was up there, distorted and shifting. It didn't feel like much, a slight pressure and the near-tangible scream of the archangel fighting for control of his vessel. Sam kept holding on. It was all he could do.

Landing _did_ hurt. It was all raw nerves hit with too many sensations at once. It was leaping through a supernova and suffocating under frozen waters. It felt as though his skin and organs were being torn apart and being put back together as violently as possible. It was darker than shadows, but too bright to understand the shadows he was seeing. It was too much, yet he expected more. Maybe there was and he couldn't comprehend it. The thought was terrifying.

Then Lucifer lunged at Michael, and the two were fighting as well as they could within the cage’s confines. They danced the steps of some forgotten war while the flames surged. Grace and blood falling here, a bark of laughter there. At some point Sam lost track of who was hurting who, or if the flames were still waving against his body. He wasn’t sure if it was even real or images his subconscious created to ignore the distant screaming that sounded eerily like his voice.

*~* ~*~ *~*

The acid burns had not yet healed when four demons entered his cell and Gabriel rolled his eyes. The months had gone by, but he had never started counting to begin with, so it was hard for him to say how long he had been putting up with this shit. The black-eyed crew was busy bringing in new toys to tear into his skin, and honestly, he was having none of it.

“Guys, c’mon. You’ve been probing my ass for how long and you still haven’t managed to be anything other than an annoyance to me? Why don’t you just unlock my chains, and I’ll let you walk away.”

A short female demon scoffed, “And why the fuck would we just let an archangel waltz right out?”

“Because he asked with minimal threatening.”

“Not happening.”

The other three demons were blocking Gabriel’s view from the table in the corner over which they were murmuring and putting something together by the looks of the bumping shoulder and reaching arms.

“So does the boss man know you’re here? Does Crowley know _I’m_ here?” Gabriel questions, already knowing Crowley was now the ringleader of hell. The demons froze for a moment then got back to what they were doing with the short one smirking through her hesitation, but it was enough and he had seen. “Ah, so he does know. Why haven’t I gotten a visit? I’m not that boring I hope, and I’m sure ol’ Crowls would love a chat with me. We’d have so much to t-”

“Talk about, yes,” teases Crowley himself as he strolls in, taking in the sight of the archangel shackled and covered in his own blood.

Gabriel would be shocked but he knew Crowley’s affinity for dramatic entrances so he retorts, “I’d say speak of the devil, but I hear he’s a little restricted at the moment.”

“That’s true, and now I’m King of Hell, so I get to take up his little project; You. Previous methods of torture have not proven effective with you, so I had my servants dig up a little something and modify it. Psychological warfare, catered to you specifically of course. The amount of useful information an archangel holds is too good to pass up.”

As Crowley speaks the demons finish their concoction and hand it to their boss.

Gabriel says nothing to this and tilts his chin up in defiance. Crowley strolls towards him with glass of questionable ingredients. He holds it in front of the angel’s lips and says “Open up.”

“No foreplay?”

Crowley’s demons help him force the potion down Gabriel’s throat and leave while the demon stays to watch it take hold. Gabriel’s eyes close and he shakes for a moment then is still. When his eyes open in an unseeing gaze and his mouth opens in a nearly silent scream that is more of a sharp exhale, Crowley smiles in content.

“Sweet nightmares, darling.”

*~* ~*~ *~*

Sam noticed something was wrong when Dean came stumbling back from purgatory. It was different from his return from hell, when Dean tried to act like nothing was wrong and used sarcasm and hunting to table Sam’s worry. Now he was quieter, took longer to clean his guns, kept the music in the Impala relatively low. He said it was nothing, to leave it alone, but Sam noticed how when they were driving and a flock of birds passed overhead that Dean’s mouth became a thin line and his fingers tightened on the wheel before flexing.

As the rain was rolling against the motel walls and thunder hummed in the distance, Dean quickly got out of bed and rushed to the window.

“What is it?” Sam asked, reaching for his gun.

“I thought I saw Cas,” his brother responded, voice tight and eyes closed.

Sam had always wondered if ‘a more profound bond’ had more worth than face value.

*~* ~*~ *~*

Dean sent a prayer, one he knew would go unheard, but it felt good nonetheless to say it.

"I don't know what I'm doing."

Gabriel heard a defeated whisper and lifted his head. Blood stained his face and had dried into flakes now falling in browned clumps from his face. The room was quiet, and he was alone.

"...he couldn't even trust himself. I have never felt like such a failure as in that moment. What kind of brother sees his younger brother drowning in his mind, then promises to make it better, when he knows he can't? I mean I'm no miracle worker, though I supposed neither are you anymore. But that's beside the point. I just..."

The whisper grew stronger, reaching from his grace. He tried yet again to rekindle the connection between his grace and his being. It hurt but he held on for a moment. A series of wet hacking ensued as his lungs rejected the blood and liquid that had settled in them, and he shuddered and gave up with a slump as he continued to listen.

"...and Cas, hell, he's my only friend. He's a good guy. You'd be proud of him, family issues aside. But he's who-knows-where, and I'm to blame..."

Gabriel felt the irritation of half-recognition. He knew the speaker, was sure with all he had that he knew the speaker, but the lamp above him was buzzing and he could barely feel his grace sparking and shifting with discontent in its shattered state. His head felt numb and heavy, and he couldn't keep his eyes open.

"...so I guess that's it. Didn't help much to say it at all. Actually I feel like crap. I should stop expecting otherwise. Oh and by the way, I get why you did it now. I can't respect how you went about it, but I can get it. If you were here, I'm sure you'd be sending me off to some chick flick in TV land, but you're dead so you won’t. I could say sorry for what happened, but you knew what could happen when you came to get us. I do owe you some gratitude for that by the way. So, thanks."

Gabriel knew who it was and tried to smile through cracked lips, but ended up coughing up more blood. It joined the rest that his body was determined to keep making. He couldn't die, but this wasn't living.

*~* ~*~ *~*

Naomi tells him to kill the man he rescued from hell and Castiel shakes his head no; This isn't what he wanted. She was going to forgive him for waging war, was going to let him be in heaven, let him come home, if he did as she asked. But this didn't concern angel tablets, demon tablets, heaven, hell, or anything between. This was personal, and she knew it.

"Castiel. Kill him. Do it, now!" Her voice was sharp and piercing, looking for the cracks in his façade.

He hesitated. She ran a blade through Dean. He fell to the ground. Castiel said nothing, dropped to his knees and hung his head over the fake body, feeling a tightness that wouldn't go away, wouldn't let him speak. Naomi left, and he kneeled by the body until a hand tapped him on the shoulder.

"Cas?"

The fake Dean seemed not to notice the body on the floor.

"C'mon man. What are you doing?" Castiel knew, he knew this thing, this Dean, wasn't his Dean. The voice was too soft, the eyes not the right green.

He stood, angel blade materializing in hand, and the fake Dean looked alarmed.

"Hey, hey, hey, whoa. Easy there tiger, it's just me."

No, it's not you.

Castiel paused, and the Dean relaxed for a moment before he smirked, darker than anything the angel had seen before. He was holding the tablet, sneering and walking away.

Naomi's voice grates through the air, "Kill him."

Castiel closed his eyes and struck out with the blade, feeling it sink into something warm and human. He turned around before he reopened his eyes.

It continued. The 23rd Dean was all smiles and 'we can fix this'. Castiel was familiar with guilt, and this was no exception.

Dean number 403 said, 'I love you.' Castiel found no sympathy from Naomi and steadfastly wiped the tears he didn't know could form in his eyes.

Dean number 689 said, 'I hate you.'

Dean number 1000 didn't say a word, just green eyes meeting blue and an angel blade meeting flesh. Castiel didn't look at any of the bodies on the floor, nodded to Naomi, and fled. None of them were quite right, but close enough to hurt too much to bear.


	5. Dog Days

Hot air barged in through the open door as the dog panted under the kitchen table. The sound of cars passing by on the interstate drifted in with the warmth as Sam wiped hair out of his face before going back to fixing the sink.

Amelia had given him a chance to come back and take a look at it, seeing as there was no one else who could. She was leaning against the wall with her arms crossed trying not to shift impatiently on her feet. Having already checked on the dog, she had nothing to do but wait, and she couldn’t do it anymore.

“So what is your problem?” It came out more hostile than she meant it to, and the sound of her voice startles herself as much as it did Sam if the way they both jump was anything to go by.

He paused and turned to look at her before shrugging in a what-do-you-want-me-to-say way. 

The scrawny trees that bordered the parking lot rustled with hot air, and Amelia could not fathom the nerve of the man in front of her. 

“First you hit this dog, then you come into the clinic with the guts to yell at me to help him when he wouldn’t need it if you had been paying attention to the road in the first place. Then you’re in my motel room when I come back, and now you’re here again and all you can do is sit in silence. You also brought the dog which you still haven’t named yet.”

Sam stopped working and stood holding his hands out in surrender. “Look. I’m sorry I lost my temper when I came in with the dog, it was uncalled for and you and your technician didn’t deserve that. But, I’m not some kind of creep who comes and fixes the sink while I wait for you to get back, I didn’t know you were staying here. And I didn’t hit the dog on purpose, I took him to the nearest vet as quick as I could, and then despite not having the best lifestyle for a dog, I took him anyway because you guilted me into it. So forgive me for any grief I’ve caused, but don’t condemn me for the few moments you’ve known me.”

He stood with a slump in his shoulders that admitted defeat before the battle starts and any anger Amelia held walked out the open door and is replaced by a tired suspicion. Pushing off the wall, she approached the man in front of her with the caution of someone approaching a stray dog.

“You’re right, sorry. Things have just been,” she gestured loosely with no purpose, “Thanks for fixing the sink.”

Sam recognized the peace offering and took it with a gentle smile, “Don’t mention it. Is there anything else I can do?”

“You could answer some of my questions,” Amelia said hopefully.

They took seats at the table, carefully moving the chairs to avoid the dog who had fallen asleep and was twitching with dreams. They talked for hours as the sun went down and bugs started coming in through the open door, causing them to hunt down a fly and release a moth back into the night. 

Breathless with laughter at the bug fiasco, Amelia gasped “That was a riot.”

“Yeah it was. I better get going though, the he’s probably hungry,” Sam laughed, motioning toward the dog before heading for the door.

“Wait. One last thing.”

Sam turned, expectant. 

“You never named the dog.”

He thought for a moment before smiling, “How about Riot?”

Amelia smiled back. “That’ll do.”

*~* ~*~ *~*

The hellhound was advancing on Dean who was clutching his side where it had torn into him moments before. The knife and his glasses fell out of reach so all he could do was listen to the beast’s growls and watch the paw prints it tracked  in the barn floor dirt as it approached. Suddenly Sam was there, shooting the hellhound to keep it from pouncing on his brother. 

The demonic dog lunges at Sam as he holds it back by the throat. Dean watches, frozen with fear, not at the position his brother is in but at the prospect of Sam being the one to complete the trials and losing him forever. 

As the hellhound is bearing down on Sam, all he can think of is how Dean deserves a break. He slices the beast’s belly and resolves himself to being the one to bear the challenge. After Dean relents and Sam completes the first task, he is reminded of the labors of Hercules. He only has three, thankfully, and the monumental task ahead of him is daunting but he’s ready, even if his brother resists, demanding they find another hound and he be the one to kill it.

“I want to slam hell shut, too, okay? But I want to survive it. I want to live, and so should you,” Dean won’t meet his eyes as Sam speaks, “You have friends up here, family. I mean, hell, you even got your own room now,” the joke falls flat and dies soundlessly, “You were right, okay? I see light at the end of this tunnel. And I'm sorry you don't – I am. But it's there. And if you come with me, I can take you to it.”

“Sam, be smart,” Dean’s voice hardens to avoid cracking.

“I AM smart, and so are you. You're not a grunt, Dean. You're a genius – when it comes to lore, to – you're the best damn hunter I have ever seen – better than me, better than dad. I believe in you, Dean. So, please – please believe in me, too.”

Dean hands over the paper.

Sam recites the spell, “Kah-nuh-ahm-dahr,” and as quickly as the pain in his arm comes, it’s gone. And with the fading light in his veins, the trials begin.

 

 

 

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

Walking along the shore, an angel turned to see one of his many younger siblings staring at a grey lump heaving itself back to the ocean. The young foot-soldier-to-be was getting close to the little fish, clumsily stepping towards it as it tried to return to the water. The older angel paused a moment to remember the name of this sibling, there were so many it was hard to keep track.  
He sighed, “Don’t step on that fish Castiel, big plans for that fish,” he chastised in Enochian.

The sibling looked properly shamed, developing black wings dropping a little. Castiel hurried to catch up to his older sibling, and they walked in silence along the waters, admiring the newest of their Father’s creations. Earth, it would later be called, and the Enochian name was lost even to the Archangels who fell into the habit of calling it that with the younger angels.

The elder angel carried the younger back to Heaven, and tried teaching him how to use his wings. Gabriel smiled when the tyke was able to move them pretty well, and kept smiling though he was thinking he’d probably never see the kid again. Heaven was big enough that crossing paths with all of his siblings was hard. The two angels would remember that day for centuries, one fondly and one with the bittersweet aftertaste of farewell.

*~* ~*~ *~*

Jealously and rage became The Fall. Lucifer was cast out, and others fell with him. His fallen brother’s rage lasted a few centuries, the echos of Lucifer’s pain ringing in Gabriel’s ears even in Heaven. Other angels lashed out and fell after him. Gabriel can still hear their screams as they plummeted downwards, their wings blazing, charred feathers marring the sky. The sight reminded him of comets, almost beautiful enough to forget the burning mass hurtling through space and time, homeless.

*~* ~*~ *~*  
Adam and Eve were placed in Eden, moving the Grand Plan into place. Some stories depict Lucifer appearing as a serpent, which is likely, but Gabriel can’t say for sure. The serpent tricked Eve into eating fruit from the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil, and Adam joined and as it goes they were kicked out of the Garden for disobeying.

Fingers were pointed at Gabriel, who, rumor has it, (and the angels were hypocrites in the sense that they gossiped more than birds on a telephone wire) was the one who let the serpent in. This thought however was refuted by many because Gabriel the Archangel, Lord of Paradise, doing such a thing to humanity which he loved so much was outrageous. One of the Cherubim he presided over once saw him walking the path he, Adam, and Eve used to stroll together, wings dropping and head down. Still the angels whispers amongst themselves, saying Gabriel should have slain the serpent, and secretly thought it was just as much Gabriel’s fault as it was Lucifer’s.

And so humanity sinned.

Gabriel watched from Heaven for thousands of years, each generation the people becoming more and more corrupt. And he loved them. He loved humanity for being so tainted and for not following the rules, because look at what they'd accomplished! They learned like it was the only thing that would keep them alive, which towards the beginning was true. And though the tangled web of truth and deception grew, his amazement did not falter. Seeing them thrive, most of them trying to be better than were born to be; a few truly faulted and uncaring, were still fascinating in their selfish attempts to become themselves.

These wonderful beings lived, thankful of their creation, not caring they were damned from the start. He began to feel more obliged to them than Heaven, but that was okay because our purpose was to serve the people right? So Gabriel did, with intentions of both good and bad origins.

The better ones, derived from his love of their compulsive nature, may be the reason he became the messenger. Or that he had watched over Adam and Eve in Eden, and was more connected with humanity than most angels. Gabriel had a compassion for humans unlike his siblings, so he was able to appear to humans without scaring them too badly. Most of the time. Though Joseph was a bit of a wuss…

His bad intentions, however, took root the day humanity was scripted for damnation.

*~* ~*~ *~*

Gabriel grew wise, and obeyed Michael's orders as the Host grew in number and angels filled the Heavens. Humanity learned and thrived, and over the years Heaven became less empty as souls found their eternal rest. Over the centuries Gabriel’s amazement with humanity never faltered.

There are days he is proud of, moments he remembers fondly. Among those are messages he gave to the people, his favorite being to Joseph when he told the guy not to leave Mary. He found he like walking in people’s dreams, they helped him understand humans.

After leaving Heaven he struggled to forget some of his memories as an angel. One that haunts him is the destruction Sodom and Gomorrah to rid the cities of sin. Though he tries to bar the guilt away, it is hard. God has said if ten righteous men could be found in the cities, they would be spared. The night ended with Gabriel being sent to kill everyone, and destroy the land. He would have laughed at the irony, being the one to level the cities compared to Eden, but he stopped finding humor in these things long ago. Fire rained down, and the land met its downfall, only ruins left.  
And so the sin was gone.

Later, so was he.

The day he left was notably uneventful on Earth. It wasn’t hard, slipping away from Heaven unnoticed. No one stopped him, or gave Gabriel a second glance as he flew from the Host. None of them worried, or assumed he was leaving and not coming back, he assumed none of them had it in them to care. Gabriel landed, and in his vessel’s hand he held the horn he had been assigned as a fledgling, not daring to leave it and chance it being blown and ruin his grace as it had the first and only time it was used.

Being in a vessel was strange and new; he had never tried it before and it felt like intruding even though the man gave him the a-okay. Though Gabriel knew they wouldn’t be there, he looked over his shoulder to see a bare wingless back. He could still feel them, stuck in a higher celestial plane, and while they were not tangible on Earth, Gabriel could still sense things through them. Spending a few minutes getting used to having invisible wings, and being so short compared to his actuality in Heaven, he moved all of his vessel’s limbs as a test.

Looking around, he saw the human who had agreed to be his vessel was in the woods, presumably lost. He was somewhere in northern Europe, which suited him fine. Morning sunlight was streaming through the green leaves, spring freshly new and blooming. Soft dirt was beneath bare feet, and Gabriel looked down and wiggled his newly acquired toes, still getting used to that body. He wasn’t a true vessel, and Gabriel hoped the family wouldn’t mind if he skipped down the generations until he could figure out how to make his own. He would hate having to return to Heaven in shame because the humans didn’t want him either.

Evidence of the presence of his grace had shown, the leaves and grass became greener, and the trees stood noble and taller. The spring air was warm, and suddenly sweet. Glancing down in confusion, Gabriel saw small and clustered flowers growing and spreading from where he stood. In astonishment, he gaped at the sea of white, sinking to the ground as the flowers extend into the forest. He leaned against a tree, careful not to mangle any of them, and brush his hand across the ones nearest to him. Gabriel grinned as they turned into a sky blue, and skimmed his hand across all the flowers he could reach, surveying in admiration as they each turned blue in color.

The delight fueled his grace further, and Gabriel beat his wings on the other plane. Laughing, he flew slowly between the trees, hands grazing all of the flowers he could see until nearly all of them were cerulean. Landing gently between the clusters of flowers, his laughter died as he gaze between trees at the expansive blue. The flowers stretched on for miles, blue like grace, and five petals similar to simply draw stars. The comparison clawed at Gabriel’s heart, and a frown replaced his shrinking smile.

Sinking to the dirt, he curled up and wrapped his wings around himself, wishing their warmth and sense of being extended to this Earthly plane. The flowers swayed in the wind, kissing his sides as he wrapped his arms around his legs, resting his head on his knees. Unmoving, Gabriel stayed for hours, the sun faded away on the unseen horizon as the light stopped fighting through the trees. The moonlight made the flowers glow beautifully, and looking upwards he tried and failed to see the stars through the branches.

Settling for the blue flowers, Gabriel said farewell to each of his siblings, each flower a substituted star. He addressed each one in the name of one of his siblings, giving them all personalized goodbye’s even if he only meet or saw them once. The last name that leaves Gabriel’s lips is his own, and he thanked the flower for trying, and removing a burden from Heaven by leaving. It took nearly all night to say his goodbyes, and by the time he’s finished the real stars became invisible with dawn.

Standing, a final tear fell from his eye and lands on the flower he deemed ‘Gabriel’. Leaning down, he picked it from its stem and cradled it in his hand as the angel whispered to the silent flower carpeted woods a quiet, “Don’t forget me.


End file.
